Like A Nightlight
by Bloodless Dizzy
Summary: A prequel to my ongoing fanfic, The Empire; I intended this originally to be a part of the Empire fic, but was finding the placement difficult and unnatural… It just didn't seem to flow with everything else I had in mind. Graverobber x OC, mention of shavi and shuigi. Rated for language, violence, drug use, sexual content, and dark situations.
1. The Fever

A prequel to my ongoing fanfic, The Empire; I intended this originally to be a part of the Empire fic, but was finding the placement difficult and unnatural… It just didn't seem to flow with everything else I had in mind. Anyway, this is essentially just how Videl met the Grave Robber and came to be his apprentice and thus more of a backstory on their relationship and Videl in general than anything else.

Based three years after the death of Nathan Wallace and Amber Sweet's rise to power as CEO of GeneCo… the working title is **"It's Like A Nightlight,"** however I'm considering the title **"A Needle Into A Bug."** Soooo yeah, let me know what title you prefer. I'm always looking for feedback.

I won't be writing the prequel in opera format because I'm considering doing a short comic based on it and singing doesn't translate well to comic form.

Rated M for language, violence, drug use, sexual acts and innuendos, and generally dark themes.

Read and review, I have no time for flames.

* * *

**_A needle… into a bug, a needle… into a bug… a needle…_**

An ominous, hulk of a man sauntered into the alley adjacent to one of the larger Zydrate Addicts Anonymous meeting halls. Reclining against the cool, slick brick wall of the alley way, almost hidden behind a rusted dumpster he begins to tap his heavy, leather boot against the corner of the decaying trash receptacle.

A shuffling, rustling noise attracts his attention from within the dumpster and a foul odor hits him, a deathly scent he was all too familiar with. Cracking the dumpster's lid just enough to allow a crease of light to fall upon the nude, crumpled, and blood soaked form of a prostitute he frequently sold to, even as recently as the morning of that particular day.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He slammed the bin shut, quietly muttering to himself and crouching down so as to not draw attention to himself or the contorted body of the dead hooker hidden in the dumpster.

He regained his composure and peaked into the bin again, taking in the details of the corpse. Her eyes had rolled completely into the back of her head, her extremities; fingers, toes, hands, feet, arms, and legs in their entirety; had constricted and pulled inwards as though she had been burned severely or dried out, even though her corpse was free of any burns and was visibly fresh, practically still twitching.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed her spine. The source of the girl's blood loss. It appeared as though it had torn itself completely out of her skin during what must have been an unimaginably terrible fit of convulsions.

This wasn't the work of a Repo Man, or a serial killer… This was an occurrence that was becoming entirely too frequent for even the Grave Robber's not-so-delicate sensibilities.

There was a new type of Z circulating the drug using community. It wasn't as clear and didn't illuminate the same way as the Grave Robber's Zydrate. It was cloudy and almost seemed to have small particles floating in the poorly kept vials the new drug was being sold in.

Naturally, the desperate customers, or even the less educated on the subject would purchase it not caring, or knowing any better. Unfortunately, the careless decision did come at a cost.

Occasionally, the new brand of street Zydrate contained a strain of bacteria that would throw its user into a terrible state that had gained some notoriety, but was only referred to as "The Fever."

Now Grave Robber, being a man of optimism, believed that the sellers of this new strain had no intention to kill off their own consumers, only they had no idea how to properly harvest the Zydrate from the thousands upon thousands of corpses they had available to them at any given time.

This was what disturbed Grave the most, not only the unlimited supply available in the future for these novice drug dealers, but rather the potential amount they may already have stolen and stored.

More and more frequently in cemeteries and mass graves, the Grave Robber had been finding the heads of corpses crushed or removed completely, indicating the reckless methods these imposters had been utilizing.

The feeling of the imposter Zydrate is supposedly nearly indistinguishable from the Zydrate the Grave Robber had been selling for years… but within an hour of using the drug, a chill would completely engulf the user. This would be followed by a torrent of cold sweats, the victim's temperature soaring far beyond what would normally kill a human, but still feeling freezing cold and managing to stay alive. At this point, the user has usually removed all of their clothes in the hopes of cooling down while still shaking and shivering violently.

The hot and cold flashes, shaking, and general loss of all cognitive faculties will continue for at least two more hours before the user finally collapses as their body begins to contort and twist beyond their control, forced into a violent fetal position, the bones in the wrists and ankles begin to snap and the ligaments in the calves and forearms tear and retract beneath the skin. The akeles tendons in the ankles snap and contract deep in the musculature of the calves.

Throughout the height of pain, the user has become far too dehydrated to scream for pain and typically end up vomiting all over themselves, often asphyxiating before the climax of the self-inflicted condition… those who are lucky.

The final culmination of chaos and pain within the body of the afflicted user always seems to be the body self-destructing as the brain and other most vital organs begin shutting down, the body throws itself into the most violent convulsions yet until, while unable to move from the forced fetal position, the spine snaps and explodes out of the back of the unlucky buyer.

An injection of saline during the early stages of the Fever often flushes the bacteria from the body, but by the time the convulsions begin, the user is beyond saving as any needle attempting to slowly pierce a vein and inject the user with cleansing saline would simply tear any vein it enters asunder during the violent spasms.

The Grave Robber sighed and closed the dumpster a final time as the ZAA attendees began to exit the building across the street from where he stood.

Several of the admitted addicts approached him to pick up their quick fix and be on their way, while an older, visibly worn addict pulled him to the side, motioning for him to speak with her.

"Look, Grave Robber… I was supposed to meet up with my girl at the ZA meeting… you've dealt with us before, you know, uh.. she's got blonde dreads and dark roots… the left side above her ear is shaved… uh.. she just bought a new set of peepers.. bright blue… You uh.. you seen her anywhere?" The older junkie itched herself as she spoke, not completely making eye contact, a cigarette burn on her neck making the Grave Robber want to roll his eyes at the utterly cliché situation, but then his mind returned to the hooker he sold to earlier that day, the one with the black dreads, undercut, and bright blue eyes.

The one who was bragging to him about being able to pay off half of her six month payment plan from a client that promised her money and more 'Z' later that afternoon.

The one whose spine had exploded out of her own back and was rotting in a dumpster not two and a half feet away from the drug dealer and the corpse's junkie friend.

He sighed deeply. "Naw, sorry, Donna. I couldn't help ya there…" He reached deep in his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing, blue vile and handed it to her. "Get outta here. The heat's everywhere."

"B-but.. uh.. I'd.. I don't have any uh.. money." She shook visibly as she looked at the vile in her hand.

"On the house, Don. Get lost."

She didn't need to be told twice and, with that, she vanished into the seedy darkness of the night.


	2. It's Like A Nightlight

**__**Back for chapter two... This one is legitimately filled with violence, language, and smut, so yeah, keep an eye out for that. Videl and the Graverobber meet and things happen.

Rated M for a reason. Seriously.

Read and review.

* * *

**_That's the situation…_**

The sun was peaking over the skyscrapers… or whatever that ball of artificial light should be called.

The Grave Robber sat on the ground, knees bent and legs extended, leaning against a different dumpster in a different alley, one without a dead hooker in it. He counted his money carefully, occasionally licking his thumb to flick through the bills he earned that night.

He reflected on how he entered this business in the first place. His esophagus, lungs, and heart were all failing him has a young teen and, without parents, he did the only thing he knew how to survive. He signed his life away to a SurGen and, when he awoke, he felt more alive than he had in his entire life, though he knew full well the dangers of the contract he signed.

His father had done it before him and taught him passing the trade of grave robbing down to his sickly son before his own demise and the Grave Robber fully utilized the skills his father taught him in carving out something of a life for himself.

He didn't owe GeneCo any money… he could essentially afford whatever he wanted, if he wanted it. But it took years. Years and years, as the interest on his financed organs increased so did his debt. Eventually, by roughly the age of thirty-two he managed to pay off the blood debt he owed and was finally free.

By this time, though, he had found it incredibly difficult to reintegrate into normal society, whatever the hell that is. For fucks sake, he hadn't even graduated high school and had no talents beyond singing really, really well, and jamming needles into the skulls of corpses. These aren't typically the types of things employers seek, especially in an economy like they were suffering at the time and potential employees were plentiful.

He wound up just falling back into old habits with what could be best described as an 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' attitude and continued selling the ever coveted street version of the prescription painkiller, Zydrate.

In a way, he was addicted to the lifestyle just as much as his clients were addicted to the drug he sold.

He stood and stretched, exhausted from a long night of tough salesmanship and bartering, and decided it was time to find a place to bed down for the day.

He pulled a pair of black circular glasses from one of his assorted coat pockets and carefully placed them on his pale face, making sure that no vials of Zydrate fell from his pockets while he was sitting on the ground or since he had risen.

Satisfied that all of his belongings were intact, he took off out of the alley and down the avenue that would lead him to a varied selection of hotels and motels at which point he would choose the most comfortable bed for the least amount of money.

Finally, settling upon a dim building with thick shutters on the windows as well as burglar bars on the windows of each floor, not just the lower floors. It had a large, flickering holographic sign outside to the right of the thick, metal door reading "UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!" and, to the left of the door, a sign promoting Luigi, Pavi, and Amber Largo, as she called herself now, and their latest operatic success.

He scoffed and entered the building, looking down to his left coat pocket to retrieve the $35 per night required to stay in the hotel for the night.

As he removed his glasses and gazed up at the desk manager to hand her the money he paused, staring at the pail face of a stranger. A female stranger. Now, the Grave Robber considered himself to be a fairly well informed social member in the area and any new young, attractive, amiable female would definitely be something he should know about… so who the fuck was she?

"Can I help you out with something or did you just come in here to gawk?" She asked, not really asking so much as stating flatly.

She stood at 5'8, head and shoulders. Her eyes were the lightest color green, almost white, and darkly lined with the blackest eye shadow, but more than that was the tattoos around her eyes that were unique; if, in fact, they were tattoos. They were purple circles with four white dots above each eye, and three white dots bellow. Her lashes were long and thick as were her plump, black painted lips. Her hair was long, but choppy and was mostly black, but faded horizontally into bleach blonde and mixed into the bleached blonde, reintegrating with the prominent black, was acidic, neon green that seemed to reflect off of her alabaster irises.

Grinning internally about the prospect of a future client and without missing a beat, he replied, "Yeah, a room for at least the rest of today, maybe tomorrow, with a BIG bed." He looked down at her, even from in front of the elevated counter area he was considerably taller than the hostess; easily reach six foot four inches without his thick leather boots. The name tag tacked to her bosom read _"Videl,"_ a mental note he would highlight for later use.

She reached under the counter for the imposingly tall man's card key, fumbling slightly, appearing generally disconnected from the whole situation as she handed the key to him.

"Your room is on the third floor, number 316." She blurted, snapping out of her daze long enough to fully take in the man before her. She found herself looking up at him, his eyes were dark and he had a deeply saturated odor of corpses, a smell that she herself knew well.

He nodded and waved as he accepted the key and headed towards the elevator, not noticing the intent stare being directed at him from the formerly dazed hostess.

…

Crashes. Screaming. Over and over again.

The grave robber stirred from his near comatose state, cold eyes flicking open and glancing around the room, the drawn curtains allowing little illumination within the room. He was lying, fully clothed, on the still made bed, even keeping his boots on, too exhausted to remove any layers aside from his furred trench coat that rested on a cheap chair near the window, several vials of Z glowing from within.

He sat up and rubbed his temples, his head throbbing. _"What the fuck is going on out there?" _He thought to himself, noting on his way to the room earlier that day that the hotel had been completely empty.

He rose to his feet and walked to the door, pressing his ear to the cold galvanized plating of the door. Muffled yelling, crashing, more yelling. Then… the scream of a woman, a high pitched screech that could only have belonged to the young hostess. Eyes closed, he listened closer until a loud slam indicated a door flying open and likely punching a hole in the wall with its handle.

He jumped, listening intently still. More yelling, then another scream, the hostess' scream. He flung his door open and turned toward the scene.

On the floor was a makeshift kit for harvesting Zydrate, spilled and scattered, some tools broken and against the wall was a tall, thin boy no older than twenty-three with the bottom half of his head shaved, black tresses dangling on the sides of his face. He held a the throat of the hostess Videl with his left hand, pinning her to the wall while holding a straight razor to her throat with the other hand. Both their feet were planted firmly on the ground, Videl herself holding a heavy sledgehammer in her right hand while holding an enormous syringe, only millimeters from the eye of her would be attacker.

Videl screeched at the boy with the razor, "I told you time and time again that you were fucking doing it wrong! You always fuck everything up!"

He gritted his teeth and screamed back, drawing blood with the razor, "Fuck you, Del! I've been the only one putting my ass on the line for this stupid fucking operation and you're complaining about the product! You don't even USE it!" He shoved his knee forward, pinning the arm holding the hammer to the wall, breaking her grip.

She screamed in pain, biting forward at him, but held back by his tightening hand "Nnngh.. F-Fuck off you fucking idiot! You bash their heads in with a fucking hammer and suck up what spills because you miss with the needle! You get bacteria and shit knows what else in the product and our customers are fucking DYING!" She swiftly raised her knee, jamming him right in the stomach, and then kicked him in the groin with her other foot.

The boy staggered backwards, hitting the adjacent wall and sliding down it, gripping his dick and his gut as Videl quickly took aim and threw the syringe into the boy's eye like a dart. He threw his head back, shrieking in agony which Videl silenced by quacking the syringe all the way into the boy's head, killing him instantly, his legs and fingers twitching as she stood over him, breathing heavily, her throat dripping blood.

The grave robber stood, watching, not particularly shocked, more relieved that he wouldn't have to step in.

"Is.. uh, is your neck alright?" He asked, obligatorily.

She panted heavily and held her hand over the shallow wound. "Y-yeah… It'll be fine…" She looked over at the grave robber, her boots covered in blood. "Can.. you help me with this?" She asked reaching down to grab the boy's stilled legs.

He nodded and approached the scene apprehensively, but grasped the boy's upper half and followed Videl down the hall to a large garbage chute where they dumped his body.

Videl leaned against the wall near the garbage chute and sat on the ground, breathing deeply.

"Is it too presumptuous of me to ask what the fuck this whole thing was about?" The grave robber asked, sitting next to Videl and lighting a cigarette.

She looked at him unamused, "I'm pretty sure you got the gist of the situation." She snatched the cigarette from his mouth and took a long drag off of it. She exhaled, the thick white smoke billowing past her full black painted lips, her darkly lined eyes half lidded.

"You're the pair responsible for this 'fever' going around, huh." He said flatly, not making eye contact.

She looked at him quickly, shocked, what little color she had vanished from her face. "Y-you know about that, huh?" The first genuine expression of fear he had seen from Videl rang out from her ivory colored eyes.

"You've been killing off my customers." He said again, glancing over to her, showing little emotion. "Costing me money."

"I didn't mean for this to happen!" She shouted desperately, leaning towards the grave robber on her hands and knees. "I told him it was too cloudy and he said it was fine, I had no idea! I didn't know! He could never hit the right gland with the needle so he would just crack open their heads to get the stuff!"

She spoke so quickly it was difficult for the grave robber to really take it all in. He sat quietly, contemplating. "You do realize that if you want to keep making money this way, you're gonna have to make up to me what I've lost in customers."

She glared at him defiantly, her pupils shrinking with a quiet rage, "Yeah and how the fuck do you expect me to do that? I'm not whoring myself out for you, you fucking creep." She snapped, withdrawing and leaning away from him.

He grinned and leaned toward her, his sheer size overwhelming. "That's not exactly what I had in mind…"

She looked deep into his eyes, her own full of fear and uncertainty. "Wh-what do you want me to do?"

He reached forward with his fingerless gloved, dirty hand and placed his black painted fingers under her chin and one painted thumb on her chin, leaning in closer. "I've got a great idea…"

He moved forward, kissing her hard, her eyes open wide, her natural heart pounding hard in her chest, filling her cheeks with blood and making her light headed.

"You'll work for me. I'll teach you what I know and you'll harvest for me while I sell. When you make up for the amount you cost me, you can quit. Or keep working with me. Whatever you want." He grinned against her lips as she slid back until she was on her back and he was fully eclipsing her thin, but busty frame.

"How do I know you won't just k-kill me when we're done? W-working I mean…" She looked away, her long, dark eyelashes and darkly lined eyes seeming to be focused on the floor, something the grave robber didn't appreciate in a conversational companion.

He reached down between her torn, fishnet clad legs and tattered, layered skirts and gripped her tight mound through her tiny, black cotton panties. "You'll just have to trust me." He breathed against her neck and ear, sending chills down her spine. Fear and lust encompassed her, forcing her to succumb to both.

He slipped her panties to the side, softly running his callused fingers against her soft, pink lips, feeling her wetness before jamming two long fingers deep inside her. She threw her head back, gasping, eyes wide open.

"Do we have a deal?" He whispered into her ear as he rubbed a third finger against her tight rectum.

"Aa-agghh.." She winced, "Y-yes, we have a d-d-deeaaal…" She moaned and shook beneath him, feeling a long, hardness growing against her leg through the pants of her assaulter.

He grinned, briefly removing his hand to slide his glove off, spit on his fingers and replace his index and middle finger inside her, sliding them in and out roughly. She gasped and wriggled beneath him, his invading appendages throwing her over the edge, her slick juices coating his fingers.

"Good." He bit her neck hard and jammed his lubricated thumb deep in her ass, grunting slightly at the resistance.

She groaned loudly and closed her eyes tight, having to grow accustom to the violent invasion brought on by this filthy, sexy, drug dealing monster. "F-fuucckk…" She hissed, reaching up and lifting her small black top and fishnet shirt over her full breasts, inviting him to take them in his mouth and suck and bite them to his heart's content, which he did with great fervor as he continued to thrust his fingers deep inside her.

In a mental haze, Videl reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, fishing out his long, thick member. She gasped softly, slightly regretting her decision to release this beast from its denim prison. She could barely fit her fingers all the way around it and its length and bulbous head were nothing if not intimidating. Videl stroked it gently up and down, precum dribbling at the top.

He groaned and reached down, stroking it himself before gripping Videl's thighs, forcing her knees to her chest and squishing her breasts upward. He positioned his knees on either side of her, sliding the head against her lips gently.

Videl looked up at the grave robber, the evident fear in her eyes even greater than what had been displayed before. "N-no, not yet.. Agghh!" She cried out as he forced his full length inside her, grinning in her face as she writhed beneath him.

"Nnn… what's the matter, baby? You're acting like you've never fucked before…" He breathed as he pulled out half way before plowing deep inside of her again, burying himself to the hilt, sending pleasurable chills down his spine. He shuddered as he began to quickly thrust in and out and she groaned loudly beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck, as her cries of pain and pleasure grew louder and louder.

She buried her face in his chest in a desperate attempt to hide her bright red cheeks and teary eyes as she cried out as the grave robber brought her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

He began grunting deeper in his chest and finally grabbed Videl by the ankles and pushed her legs back as far as they would go and he began hammering away at her, her pussy tightening around his engorged flesh.

"I-I'm g-g-gonna c-cu-u-umm!" She shouted as he fucked her deeper and harder.

His fierce assault became quicker as he reached his peak, he thrust deep within her a final time as an earth shattering orgasm overtook her body, her juices squirting out, pooling beneath her while his cock jerked and swelled within her, coating her inner walls with hot, violent bursts of thick, sticky semen.

He laid over her briefly, the pair catching their breath, before he rose, grabbed Videl and threw her over his shoulder, an action that she had little ability to protest. The grave robber carried her back to his room where he threw her to his bed.

In the dim light he could thick ropes of cum dripping down her thighs and staining her fishnet stockings and the bedding beneath her as she laid back, her breasts fully exposed and milky white tipped with hard, pink nipples and her legs spread revealing her tight, but now swollen, wet little treasure.

He pulled his many layers off and descended to ravish the busty, pale skinned girl for several consecutive hours.

…

The grave robber sat in the cheap chair in the window, wearing only a tattered pair of unbuttoned pants. He glanced over at the unconscious girl, nude in his bed and sighed. He fully intended to make her work off her debt. She would work for him.

He would have to try to remember the phrase "you don't shit where you eat" in the future when it came to his… employee? He wasn't certain what to call her. An apprentice, perhaps.

He took a long drag off a cigarette and exhaled, spilling smoke into the room. When the cherry reached the butt, he put out the cigarette and ventured towards the bed to lie near the girl. He looked at the chair he had just been sitting in, the glowing vials of Zydrate in the pockets of his furry trench coat now the only visible light in the room.

_"It's like a nightlight." _He thought to himself, reminiscently.


End file.
